


When We Dead Awaken

by Nightdog_Barks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Death, Family, Reconciliation, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-22
Updated: 2008-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:31:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson attends a funeral, and thinks about the passage of days.  827 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When We Dead Awaken

**Author's Note:**

> I've tried to present an accurate portrayal of a specific religious rite, but my knowledge is not first-hand. If I've gotten anything wrong, **please** let me know -- it is not my intent to offend anyone through my own misunderstanding.

_**When We Dead Awaken**_  
 **TITLE:** When We Dead Awaken  
 **AUTHOR:** [](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_writes**](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/)  
 **CHARACTERS:** James Wilson, the Volakis family (original characters)  
 **RATING:** PG-13.  
 **WARNINGS:** Yes, for a character death, although the death has already occurred.  
 **SPOILERS:** Yes, for the last few episodes of Season 4 _House_ in general, and the season finale in particular.  
 **SUMMARY:** Wilson attends a funeral, and thinks about the passage of days. 827 words.  
 **DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Never will. Also do not own any part of Henrik Ibsen, from whose play of the same name this title is taken.  
 **AUTHOR NOTES:** I've tried to present an accurate portrayal of a specific religious rite, but my knowledge is not first-hand. If I've gotten anything wrong, **please** let me know -- it is not my intent to offend anyone through my own misunderstanding.  
 **BETA:** My intrepid First Readers, with especial thanks to [](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/profile)[**deelaundry**](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/) and [](http://pwcorgigirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**pwcorgigirl**](http://pwcorgigirl.livejournal.com/).

  
 **When We Dead Awaken**

  
In the church, Wilson realizes with a start that he knows more about Amber now that she's dead than he did when she was alive.

He'd sat in her parents' house on the outskirts of Philadelphia -- George and Sophie Volakis, struggling through their own grief to be gracious hosts to their daughter's boyfriend. They'd offered tiny cups of strong black coffee spiked with fragrant cardamom and set out a tray of baklava. The sweet pastry had flaked into paper-thin sheets of buttery phyllo under his fork and left an archipelago of chopped walnuts scattered on his plate.

Amber's brothers had been there -- five big men, only one of them (a twin) blond and blue-eyed like her. Amber's much-vaunted resemblance to House had not extended as far as her being an only child. Portraits were everywhere, candid and posed. Amber's baptism. Amber in a Girl Scout uniform. Amber's high school graduation. Amber's graduation from Columbia. Framed certificates, diplomas, ribbons and trophies. More pictures of the golden girl than of her five brothers combined.

Nick, the blond twin, had filled his parents' silence with words of his own. Explanations of the rituals to come -- the Trisagion memorial service the night before the funeral. How during the funeral the casket will be open, the coffin arranged so that Amber's closed eyes are facing east. How the white-robed priest will draw a shroud around Amber's body, anoint her with oil and sand. Nick had smiled, invited Wilson into the backyard; once there he had offered Wilson a cigarette, lit one of his own and stubbed it out quickly after only a few drags. He had known Amber wasn't religious, he'd said, but it's our parents, it's important to them. To say goodbye, you know? I know, Wilson had said, and fallen silent.

The incense tickles Wilson's nose, creeps into his wool suit, clings to his hair. He knows he'll be catching its scent for hours, if not days, getting sideswiped by a new rush of grief each time. The pale grey smoke reminds him of the bar, but he pushes that memory out of his mind and concentrates on the priest's words, allowing the ancient Greek liturgy to wash over him.

He knows that Cuddy is here, sitting with five of House's current and former fellows. Hadley isn't here, and neither is House. He's still resting, still healing. Wilson hasn't been back to see him since that night; this unfamiliar religion and Amber's family have taken all his time, but he's still keeping an eye out, having every progress report on House's condition copied to him.

A fresh wave of incense wafts up; the smell is cloying sweet like a clove cigarette and he's back in the bar, stuck in an endless loop. The tattooed bartender rests his hands on the rough, gouged wood of the counter and says --

Wilson pushes the memory away again.

After this comes the burial, flowers and dirt tossed by the mourners onto the closed coffin. Then the _Makaria_ , the _mercy meal_. Platters of roasted fish, glasses of fiery Metaxa brandy helping to ease the numb disbelief that any of this is really happening.

He wonders what House is doing right now, and decides he's probably sleeping. Wilson doesn't think he'll have time to see him anytime soon -- he has to pack up Amber's apartment, let Amber's family decide what to keep and what to throw away. Those decisions aren't his to make. He'll have to find a new place to live, too, and as much as he just wants to go back to work, Cuddy has insisted he take the standard domestic-partner bereavement time, _plus_ every one of his accumulated sick days, which will add up to almost four weeks away from the hospital.

Wilson glances up; the dark eyes of the saints stare down at him from the iconic frescoes on the church walls. Four weeks will just about put him back ... here, for the _Mnimosinon_ , the fortieth-day Memorial Service. More chanting, more incense, more prayers. A bowl of _kolliva_ on a table -- a dish of boiled wheat, symbol of resurrection. Immortality and rebirth, Nick had said. A celebration of life, not death. Then he'd shaken his head and looked away.

The incense has started to sting, and Wilson closes his eyes.

Maybe he can persuade House to come to the _Mnimosinon_. Things will have settled down by then, there'll be some distance to all of this. They can talk about how easy it is to make wrong assumptions from the very beginning, about where those assumptions will inevitably lead, about how smoke swirls up in a spiral in still air.

Or maybe they won't talk about any of those things, but will simply sit quietly. Either way, they'll talk. Eventually, after the floods have washed away all the markers of the old world.

After all, a lot can happen in forty days.

  
~ fin.


End file.
